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‘Ol Bessie

BostonSportsWoman's Car

Ahhh, Wednesday.  Not sure how I approach this day of jump, middle of the week, or the day from hell?  Wednesday’s I drive 60 miles to take my son and his teammate to hockey practice.  I get to fight the good fight of the Boston traffic going South and North.  I have always wondered how that works, traffic both ways.  I rush them down to practice, a 1/2 or or sometimes 45 minutes early, against their wishes, but I know in order to get through the traffic and pick up his sister by 6pm at the after-school program, they have to suck it up.  Ahhh, Wednesday.

My week is generally planned around this special day.  Special in that I get to spend quality time with two teenagers who mearly grunt and text message one another while they are less than 16 inches apart.  When I pick up Charlie’s teammate and friend Zack, I ask the same questions, hoping to get some conversation from these boys.  Now Zack is a great kid, as the weeks have passed he plays me like a fiddle engaging in my tete á tete.  “How was school today Zack?”, I ask hoping for a sentence longer than one word.  “Actually, it was great Mrs. McConnell. Today, I had a really nice day.  Thanks for asking.”  What, what, who is this? Oh the joys of conversation.  Do I continue, or do I relish in the fact that he didn’t just grunt a “good” under his voice-changing breath?

I’ll take it.  My Wednesday is fulfilled.  Now I head into the traffic.  I would love to calculate the miles put on my car over the course of the hockey season.  My Ford Explorer has 210,000 miles (most of which was driving to and from a job 40 miles from our home).  Now, she, (Bessie, I affectionately call her, or Big Blue), has retired from driving to those hockey tournaments outside a 250 mile radius.  My husband fears Bessie will not make it much longer.

She’s got good fight in her.  She’s been to Montreal, Quebec, Rochester, Providence, Stamford, and of course, nearly every MDC rink in eastern Massachusetts.  She’s toured much of the South Shore for Baseball trips, but was left behind when we drove to Virginia Beach for the AAU National Tournament.  It may have been a result of her lack of air conditioning, or simply the noises in the back tend to over deliver their sound over the music on the radio.  We’re careful where Bessie goes now.

My favorite part of Bessie is her ability to house so much crap to keep my six year old content.  As we travel from place to place, taking in as many dinners on the road as an amateur hockey team, we collect plenty of restaurant crayons.  I wish just once, someone would supply colors other than red, blue, green and yellow.    I’ll survive though.  I keep a basket of “art supplies” in the back, tucked away next to the three or four fleece blankets, extra winter coats, and of course the travel potty seat.  You laugh, but when you have a girl, they come in handy!

I’m pretty convinced Bessie looks forward to the switchover.  This is the time when the basket and items in the car switchover from hockey to baseball, or vice versa.  This, this is the time Bessie gets a good cleaning.  I even think she runs better for a day or so.  (Noises not so loud, or maybe I am just turning the radio up a little louder?)  Fleece blankets are replaced with large blankets to act as a picnic blanket.  The “tent” I purchased for $20 dollars goes alongside the pop up chairs.  (I highly advise the purchase of a pop-up tent to keep little ones occupied at baseball games.  Baseball, as you know, has no clock…

Yes, Bessie has a good life.  International explorer that she is, she keeps chugging along.  And, I have to say, no car payment leaves me more money to take the kids out to eat and score those free crayons.

Ol Bessie

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New Teacher

So, every six weeks a new session begins at Gymnastics. And every first day of the new session is a smattering of mothers mumbling under their breath the anger of the inconsistency of the teaching staff.  What gives?  Why is it the fault of the Gymnastics school that the teachers have changed?  This is a phenomena I do not understand.

I dropped my daughter off yesterday afternoon 5 minutes late to Gymnastics class (as always).  She popped a kiss to me and bounced right into the warm-ups.  Behind me was a mother cursing loud enough for just a few of us to capture what it was she was complaining about…”New Teacher!  She was just getting used to the other one, now they change, dammit.  She’s all out of sorts…” She went on for a while, hoping to find some sympathy in the room.

The little gymnast
The little gymnast

None to be found here.  Now, I know, perhaps her child has special needs and requires the consistency in their lives.  Well, not so much for this little gymnast.  She’s my daughters age, and has been going to the classes as long as my daughter has.  No excuses mom.  I watched from day one this little girl clinging to her mother, and mom coddling her in return.  Come on!  Break the umbilical cord already.

Why do parents feel this abandonment?  Yes, it is the parent who is feeling abandoned.  Why would you put your child in the class, angry they won’t let go, then smile casually as you hand a screaming , crying, miserable child to a Gymnastics Teacher?  In my world children are this way because 1) We allow them to do this and don’t  follow through on our actions, and 2) they simply are not ready for an extracurricular activity without the womb.

Don’t sign your children up for activities unless you can let go.  Please, don’t watch the class, unless you’ve been invited in.  It’s like watching paint dry and you will only critique the way they are working with your child.  The gymnastics academy my daughter attends has two “viewing windows”.  They are 24″ x 24″ total.  This is for a reason.  Take the hint.

Six weeks comes and goes.  Teachers, instructors, coaches, come and go when you sign-up for extracurricular activities that are on a cycle.  Think before you sign-up.  Have a positive attitude towards these people who have the patience to work with your little one.  And, wait until they are truly ready for you to let go.

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The Bleacher Butt

It’s been nearly 10 years in the making, but I’ve finally made it.  I finally brought one of those handy dandy seat cushions to a game.  You’d think I’d know better.  After all, every Grandparent who ever attended any grandchild’s sporting event owns at least two or three.  They even would offer me one, but I’d decline, suffering the wrath of my bleacher butt.

And so it goes.  The first edition of bleacherbutt.  You all know who you are, you are the dedicated, or not so perhaps dedicated, parents of children who relish in extracurricular activities, focused on the world of sports.  Yes, my dear friends, you know who you are, and we all share a dream, that our child will outgrow his need for competitive sport.

Where would that leave us?  That’s why we have multiple children, sanctioned perfectly three years and 2 months apart in order to generate at least 20 years of sporting events.  Whether it’s good fortune or not, I have two children, ages 13 and 6.  The 13 year old is the sport equivalent to 3 children, whereas the 6 year old would much prefer painting over perfunctory athletics.  (Though, I do believe she has athletic prowess, however, we have not uncovered it yet)

That’s what we parents do, watch with great intent while our little ones try to win a game.  When my son was 4 he started tee-ball.  Now 4 is just crazy, as I didn’t start any sports until after I was 6.  But, as I came to find out, we were actually late to the game (pun intended).  Most of his friends had started soccer at age 3.  They were the Brewers.  Now, my son has a bit of an advantage.  His father, the head baseball coach at a local university, placed a bat in his hand at age two months.  I have to admit, he does have a natural swing.  (My daughter on the other hand has no clue on how to swing a bat!)

The T-ball league was great.  Each team consisted of 15 players, all who got to bat, all got to be in the field, at the same time, and no outs counted, unless you played the Brewers.  These guys could turn double plays!  They were amazing, and they were only 4.  My son and his friends who understood the game of baseball were furious when they made their three outs, and had to stay until everyone batted.  It was confusion on both sides.

What are we teaching them?  My husband eventually boycotted the games, as I sat there, with my blanket in the cold New England spring.  I wished I had that bleacher cushion back then.  Nine years ago this all began. Along with baseball we added hockey at age 5.  That’s when the real fan in me was exposed.  I taped all of his first year.  It’s somewhere on some camcorder tape in the house.  That was the last year I ever taped a hockey game.

So, what is bleacherbutt all about?  It’s about the dedication parents put into the games their children play.  It’s about how fanatical we parents get when we’re at a game.  It’s about how adults get lost in the competitive spirit of the game, and lose sight of what its all about.  It’s about a mother who goes every Monday to get her son’s skates sharpened at the same place week after week.  It’s about car pools and “stinky hockey boys”.  It’s about making life work around your kids sporting event.  It could be about you.  It could be about your parents who also join you in the stands week after week.

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